


For a Present Under the Tree

by grace_lou_freebush



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Hopeful Ending, Christmas, Christmas Presents, Come Kink, Cunnilingus, Dirty Talk, Draco and Hermione love each other though, Established Relationship, F/M, Hair-pulling, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Inspired by The Gift of the Magi - O. Henry, Kitchen Sex, Male POV Smut, POV Draco Malfoy, Praise Kink, Size Difference, Smut, The Malfoys are poor y'all, The world hates Draco Malfoy, Tight budget
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:07:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28255143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grace_lou_freebush/pseuds/grace_lou_freebush
Summary: When Draco and Hermione eloped, the Wizarding World turned against them. Hermione is stuck in a low level, low paying Ministry job with no hope of upward movement. Draco can't even convince someone to hire him.Now, it's Christmas, and Draco knows Hermione deserves the world - or at the least a Christmas gift. He finds the perfect hair comb to replace the horrid Muggle brush she's been making due with, and he'll do anything to afford the paltry present so he can have something to put under the Christmas tree for his wife.Making a beeline for the jewelry box containing the hair combs, Draco rifled through them, landing on an ivory comb with queen anne rose carvings and gold filigree detailing.He brought it to the startled shopkeeper and set it down gently. Pulling his sixth generation Malfoy heirloom pocket watch from his coat, he shoved it in the wizard's face without second guessing himself."I would like to make an exchange."
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 33
Kudos: 192





	For a Present Under the Tree

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The GIft of the Magi](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/730083) by O. Henry. 



> I don't know what possessed me to write a Dramione version of "The Gift of the Magi" by O. Henry, but if you're looking for Christmas angst, you've come to the right place. I was inundated with sobbing emojis from my wonderful beta, [Aneiria](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aneiria/pseuds/Aneiria) (all remaining errors are my own, btw), who was such a trooper while I wrote this, so prepare yourselves hahaha. 
> 
> If you're not familiar with the source material, Draco and Hermione are very poor, here, living paycheck to paycheck. So if real life monetary struggles are a squick or trigger for you, tread carefully.
> 
> This is a story of struggle, sacrifice, but above all, love. I hope y'all enjoy!

Draco stood in the aisle of the antiques and resale shop that he had become quite familiar with over the last six months. A large portion of the items displayed had come from his personal Gringotts vault - the one his parents had no hold over.

Picture frames that once held the smiling faces of his family and Hogwarts friends lined the displays, empty and yearning. He picked one up - one of his favourites that would complement a wedding photo beautifully - and caught the eye of the shopkeeper who, despite never being mistreated or sold cursed or Dark objects by Draco, still did not trust him without a watchful eye. The price printed neatly on the back proudly announced ten galleons, the reasonable price Draco had requested to part with the nice frame. He'd received two galleons for it after haggling for twenty minutes.

Gently replacing it, Draco shuffled down the line a few steps, holding in a frustrated sigh. His wife deserved the world, and he was still coming around to the idea that he didn't need to spend hundreds of galleons on gifts to provide for her and tell her what she meant to him. But this was Christmas, their first Christmas married, and he could not be convinced to forgo a present like she'd insisted for her birthday three months prior.

So he fingered the set of bedclothes - the same ones she'd lamented their need to sell in the early days of their marriage - and worked Arithmancy equations in his head to determine how much he could spend without overdrawing their joint vault. Their mortgage for the month had been paid already, and groceries had been purchased two days ago. All of their essential debts were up to date. That left a grand total of one galleon, five sickles, and twelve knuts to tide them over until Hermione's meagre paycheck transferred into the bank at the end of the week.

Draco withdrew his hand from the silk sheets; he knew without looking that they were about fifty times more expensive than he could conceivably afford. He stopped at the bookshelf filled with pre-owned tomes to peruse the titles - most of them were his school books from Hogwarts and the rest were romances Hermione wouldn't deign to read or novels and texts they already owned - no good there. He bypassed the clothing section in the back all together; he knew its contents quite well after exchanging his classically tailored, designer robes for the well-worn sets offered by the shop along with the largest sum of coins he ever received from the shop owner in one transaction.

There were myriad items for sale in the shop, not all of which had once belonged to the infamous Malfoy family: collections of fine, silver cutlery; furniture of various size and purpose, including but not limited to settees, dining room tables, and bedroom sets; self-watering vases; china tea services; kitchen necessities like pots, pans, and utensils; cauldrons of every size, material, and age; costume jewelry and finery best found in a witch's vanity.

Here, Draco paused. Most of the jewelry was too gaudy for Hermione and too cheap to please his taste. But nestled inside a nondescript jewelry box sat several wide-toothed combs. The box had a handwritten note stuck to the lid. _Lady's detangling combs - 4 galleons each._

Draco thought of Hermione's hairbrush, a cheap, Muggle thing that invariably pulled out chunks of her unruly curls and lost broken teeth in her mane when it ceded the fight. Hermione never complained further than some grumbling as she charmed the plastic brush back together again, but Draco could hear her daily from the bedroom as she readied herself for work.

Four galleons each, though.

A grimace curled its way onto Draco's lips. He tamped it down quickly so the shop owner wouldn't assume he was racking his brain for the perfect curse to cast on the shop. 

_Well_ , Draco thought, steeling himself against his disappointment, _it's still early. I'm sure I can find_ some _way to earn some extra money before Christmas._

He meandered around the shop for an additional five minutes, so the owner wouldn't realise exactly what had caught Draco's eye and sequester the combs away before he could return with the galleons to purchase one. He was just petty enough to do such a thing.

Mustering a polite smile the man didn't deserve, Draco nodded a goodbye and stepped for the door.

"Wait just a moment!" the squeaky voice of the shop owner demanded before his hand touched the door handle. "Turn out your pockets! Half an hour in my shop and no purchase? Tut tut tut. I don't think so, _Mr_ Malfoy."

Closing his eyes and praying to Merlin for patience, Draco turned back to the old man. Jaw clenched so tightly his molars grit together, he silently turned his pockets inside out. His right pocket had a ripped seam large enough that the pocket was more for show than practice at this point. He pulled his wand, his coin purse, and his great-great-great-grandfather's pocket watch out all together from the left in his fist; a roll of lint popped out and dropped to the ground.

"Well, well, well," the shopkeeper wheezed. "What do we have here?" He plucked the pocket watch out of Draco's palm. "Trying to get away without paying the five galleons I'm owed for this trinket, are we?"

Ire burned hotly in Draco's chest, simmering up his neck until he could contain his temper no longer.

"That pocket watch has been in the Malfoy family for six generations and is worth _considerably_ more than _five_ galleons!" Snatching it back from the shopkeeper - who released it as if burned - he returned his pockets to their proper state and tugged at his lapels to straighten his robes and his composure. "And if that is all, I know for a fact that you have considerable anti-theft wards on the premise, so I will say 'good day.'" Turning on his heel, Draco swept the door open, nearly bowling over the unsuspecting witch trying to enter at the same moment.

"I'm terribly sorry," he muttered, stepping aside and attempting to hide his scowl so that she could enter first. A tense silence befell the three as he waited the necessary seconds for her to pass by. He only just managed to close the door without slamming it.

Pacing down the street, Draco attempted to cool the blood rushing through his veins before he Apparated home. Hermione didn't deserve to come home from a long, exhausting day at work to find her deadbeat husband throwing a tantrum.

Taking breaths and counting the way she had taught him years ago, back in their eighth year of Hogwarts, he felt his hackles lower and his heartbeat slow to an easy, resting rate. He passed a pair of witches chatting and juggling wrapped packages.

They cringed away, hissing in fear just as they crossed paths, and he nearly had to start the process over. Deciding that was enough public for one day, Draco Apparated home on the spot, not even walking the hundred or so metres to the designated point.

He landed on a dusty lane outside the wards of the cottage he and Hermione had managed to purchase as the newly wedded Malfoys. The wards allowed his entry easily, and his shoulders relaxed as relief washed over him. A little niggling fear had long since burrowed into the back of his mind that one day he would return home to find himself barred from the one place he felt safe.

Upon entering the front door, Draco shed his outer robes, scarf, and shoes at the coat rack in the entry. Checking his pocket watch, he realised he shouldn't expect Hermione back for a few hours. In the meantime, he took his wand room by room and dusted floorboards, window frames, and fairy-lit garlands. Their Christmas decorations were sparse yet jolly, most salvaged from the attic of Hermione's parents' abandoned house.

Once he was satisfied with the cleanliness of the rooms, Draco settled at the kitchen table with the classified section of the _Daily Prophet_. A stack of generic resumes that Draco could edit based on the job offering sat beside him, quill, inkpot, and blotter laid out neatly. He methodically went down the list, applying, reapplying, and, in some cases, re-re-reapplying to the adverts. 

Several shops were still hiring for the holiday shopping rush, but there were offers for contract potioneers to supply apothecaries, an owl caretaker at the post, and security wizards at Gringotts. Brewing potions would by far be Draco's preferred career, but he was now intimately familiar with the phrase _beggars can't be choosers_. The only applications he skipped were for businesses located on Knockturn Alley. While he was more likely to get a response from one of them, Hermione and he had decided it was best he remain unconnected to even the most legitimate of businesses located there. They were very wary of further tarnishing his already ruined reputation.

When the time came to start dinner, Draco set his completed applications to the side - he could drop them off in person the following day - and began cooking. He'd become a good cook, if he did say so himself, as long as he had a recipe to follow.

Hermione stepped through their Floo just as Draco pulled the pot of stew off the burner. Her frizzy hair had grown into a halo around her head throughout the day, and despite the exhausted expression on her face that accompanied her flyaways, Draco's heart leapt to see her. Hermione left her briefcase by the fireplace and hung her peacoat next to his robes while she kicked her shoes off.

"Mmmm. Smells delicious," she moaned, and Draco was gratified to see the stress of the day seep out of her when she caught sight of him.

"Long day, love?" he asked, pulling out bowls, spoons, and glasses and sending them to the table with a flick of his wand.

Hermione hummed before answering. "Same as usual, I suppose. There's an influx of reports to file as everyone finishes up their projects before Christmas."

Draco nodded, holding his tongue against the desire to remind her for the umpteenth time that her spectacular brain and talents were being wasted in the lower levels of the legislative branch of the ministry. He'd learned long ago that it did nothing but upset his wife to bemoan that her career had been hindered by her relationship with a Death Eater - an _ex_ -Death Eater, he corrected himself. Not that the correction made a lick of a difference to the rest of the Wizarding World.

Dinner was filled with the smells of vegetables and chicken broth, the sounds of metal clinking against ceramic and hungry slurping, and the sight of warm smiles and bright eyes catching each other's gaze. Hermione intermittently spoke of Harry or the Weasleys or the crone that worked down the hall from her. The ministry had announced a holiday party that she had promptly sent their "condolences" that they would be unable to attend. Draco mentioned the job openings he was hoping would finally bear fruit.

"You might have a chance with Gringotts," Hermione said. "They are more impartial towards sides during the War, and you have combat experience." Her lovely, sienna cheeks darkened, and her eyes cut to his as if waiting for him to snap at her or bolt.

A thin smile pursed his lips, but he moved the conversation along. "I'm still waiting to hear back from that construction company, as well." He hadn't immediately received a Howler for applying, which was a good sign, and construction was always a reliable field of work.

Offering Draco a small but real smile, Hermione popped up from her seat, gathering the dishes and corralling them in the sink. When Draco tried to protest, she cut him off.

"We're a team now. You cooked; I'll clean. Besides, this is the easy job!" She shot him a wink over her shoulder as she pointed her wand at the dirty dishes. The sponge ran tiny circles across every inch of the bowls, leaving them sparkling and clean in seconds. Hermione sent a towel over the freshly washed dishes before zipping them back into their appropriate cupboards. The leftovers were covered and sent into their cooling cabinet, and the soapy sponge directed along the counters and stove. Then she was finished and skipping into Draco's arms with a pleased smile adorning her lips.

Unable to resist the sight, Draco dropped his head to press his mouth to hers.

"I love you," he murmured, mouth still firmly attached to hers.

She purred into him, wrapping her arms around his neck and weaving her fingers into his hair.

"You are the best thing that's ever happened to me." Hermione's words came out as breath, filling his lungs and causing his heart to pick up its pace.

"That's my line," Draco growled, filling his hands with her arse and pulling her hips to his in a punishing grip.

The peals of Hermione's laughter were golden light, brightening the kitchen in the fading daylight. Draco basked in it as he nibbled his way down her throat. He softly grazed the spot on her neck that he knew tickled and was rewarded with a shiver that trailed down her whole body as well as a breathless giggle. She squirmed in his arms, bucking her hips against his growing erection.

At the contact, Hermione released a guttural groan that shot right to Draco's dick. She wrapped one leg around his hip and sprung to her tiptoes to bridge the height difference while he supported her weight. A satisfied smirk curled his lip with male pride. She was always so responsive to him, and it only egged his own desire higher.

Shifting his hands from her bum to her thighs, Draco lifted her, walking the few steps to the freshly cleaned countertops. They were begging to be sullied again.

After settling his wife on the counter, Draco eased the top of her work dress down her shoulders, exposing the expanse of her golden skin to his greedy gaze. He leaned down and followed the trail with his lips, teeth, and tongue, peppering her cleavage with kisses until he popped the back of her bra open and could latch onto her breast.

Draco heard Hermione's breath catch and felt her hands clutch at the nape of his neck.

His fingers snuck under her modest skirt of their own accord, searching along the winter stockings Hermione wore for the bare skin he knew he would find midway up her thigh. His hands skittered along the edge of her stockings, pulling gasps and other little noises from her throat. He smirked around one pebbled nipple and flicked his tongue on it, thinking of another tight bud he loved to wrap his lips around.

His questing fingers followed that train of thought to the apex of her legs, sneaking between them to stroke over his desired spot. Lace met the pad of his finger, and he followed the line of it down. The edges disappeared between her arse cheeks, and suddenly a vision of what she looked like bent over on display for him with only the scrap of cloth covering her flooded his eyes.

"Did you wear these for me?" he growled against her full, heavy breast, dipping his finger into her knickers and sliding his finger up and down the dainty, fragile fabric. The back of his finger brushed her nether lips, coaxing shivers out of her, while the tip tracked through a damp spot on her knickers. She was so responsive to him, so ready for him, so perfect in every way, and suddenly his mind blanked of everything except the overwhelming desire to enter her, to feel those hot, wet walls tighten around his hard, thick length.

In the early days of their relationship, Draco would rip her knickers from her body, tearing through lace and cotton with his deft fingers. Now, though, he knew how expensive they were to replace, and the finer materials never quite retained their proper quality after a _reparo_.

Instead, now, he slid them down her hips as she shifted on the counter, kicking her legs to hurry the process.

He dropped the scrap of lace on the ground and caught a dainty ankle. Giving it a kiss, he trailed his lips up the inside of her leg as his fingers traced the smooth outside, twirling spirals into her stockings along the way.

Reaching her apex, he inhaled the heady, musky scent of her cunt. When he puffed a breath out, her legs fell open further as she let out a whimper, inviting him closer. Using his right hand to hold her thigh open, Draco's fingers on his left hand separated her lips. When she was fully exposed, he eagerly leaned in, swiping the flat of his tongue against her sex.

The salty sweet essence washed over his tongue, the best dessert he would ever devour. Curling the tip of his tongue the way he knew made her sing, Draco flicked over Hermione's clit. The resulting moan was music to his ears, and he preened over his success.

Setting to his task, Draco lapped at her, keeping pace steadily as Hermione tensed, mewled, and gripped at his hair. His hand at her thigh pinned her in place so she couldn't buck him off course in her rapture, though he could feel her hips jump beneath his palm.

His cock strained, heavy and hard, but with both hands occupied, he could offer himself no relief. His hips flexed in vain as a wash of fluids coated his tongue. Her scent was becoming thicker, muskier, and he knew she was close.

Adjusting his first and second fingers on either side of his mouth, he hooked them into Hermione's eager cunt. 

"Draco!" Hermione shouted his name, a plea and an exultation all at once.

Her tight channel swallowed him eagerly, clenching and flexing around him. Draco let out a groan at the sensation, unable to differentiate the feeling around his fingers from the memory and fantasy of her walls gripping his cock. 

The vibrations of his lips suctioned around her clit must have been the kick Hermione needed to topple over the edge into ecstasy because at the utterance, her body convulsed upright. Her torso continued to curl around his head until she held him locked against her cunt, his head surrounded on all sides by her thighs, her stomach, her hands, and the curtain of her hair.

Breathing carefully through his nose, Draco flicked his tongue against her swollen nub while her walls pulsed hot and wet around his fingers.

When Hermione came down from her orgasm, she went boneless around him for a moment before coming to her senses and releasing him from her stranglehold. She pulled him off of her cunt by the collar and hefted him to her face so she could kiss him.

Her tongue forced its way into his mouth, drinking in her juices and sweeping along the inside of his teeth. Her hands left his collar but reattached to him at his waist, fiddling with his belt blindly until the end sprang free of the buckle. 

Draco moved his hands up her body, leaving her dress pooled around her hips, to haul her small frame against his chest. Hermione's multitudinous array of tight ringlets tickled the back of his hands as he kneaded the nip of her waist, the small of her back, the ridges of her ribs.

Her curls ended at her shoulder blades, but when he pulled on a lock, they expanded down, down, down to reach the swell of her arse. When he released them, they sprang back to their perfect little spirals, entrancing him. Typically, Hermione did not tolerate his intrigue with her hair, but she couldn't get enough of it in the bedroom - or during their intimacies, he should say - when he tugged on them hard enough to direct her head where he wanted it. She always went slack, malleable when his fingers threaded between her locks and gripped, making Draco feel simultaneously powerful and weak for her.

Draco's right forearm pressed flush with Hermione's spine, his palm flat between her shoulder blades and caging her against him, as she finally worked his cock free of its constricting trousers and pants. His left hand was free to wrap around strands of her hair at the base of her scalp and tug.

Her lips were wrenched free of his as she predictably melted into his hands. Draco descended on her exposed neck, nibbling and sucking a bruise into the thin skin at her pulse that he knew she would heal before work in the morning. He still enjoyed marking her up as his.

"You like that, don't you, Granger? You like tasting yourself on my mouth," he growled into her, voice low and gravelly, thick with arousal. "You're so ready for me, needy girl. Greedy for my cock in you."

As he spoke, Draco nudged his hips forward. The tip of his cock bumped into Hermione's centre, eliciting twin groans from them both. She was slick and warm against his sensitive head, and despite his teasing words to Hermione, he was just as greedy, just as desperate for her.

Hermione writhed against him, a whispered mantra of _yes, yes, yes, Godric, yes!_ flowing into the air above his head. Her fingernails scratched his shoulders, the sharp pain ratcheting his desire to new heights. He bit down on her throat hard in retaliation, releasing quickly and soothing the spot with his tongue.

"Be a good girl," he rasped, "and reach down and line me up so I can fuck you properly."

Without hesitation, her arm wriggled between them, her hand closed warm and firm around him, and his cock was directed into the inviting heat of his wife. Once his head had been properly positioned, he thrust forward with a quick jerk, impaling Hermione on him suddenly.

She was tight but moulded around him easily. Merlin, it was like she had been made, been formed just for him.

Soft velvet encased him, and he could feel her begin to quiver around him as he slowly pulled out and rammed back home. He could focus on little more than the rapturous feel of sliding in and out of her, keeping a steady pace, and the whining pleas she asked of him. _Harder, faster, there, right there, again, more._

Still half seated on her skirt, Hermione began to slide back on the counter, despite Draco's firm grip on her back and her feet propped against the cupboards beneath. A particularly rough thrust smacked his balls against the faux granite countertop with more force than was pleasurable, and he halted for a moment, ignoring Hermione's complaints to lift her hips off her dress and scoot her forward.

He perched her arse precariously on the corner of the counter before continuing his punishing pace of fucking her boneless. Her legs bent up at the new angle, her knees resting just shy of his armpits and her feet hooking around his back. Draco slipped deeper, and his eyes rolled heavenward as Hermione let out a breathless squeal.

He fisted her soft, glorious hair and tugged. Her head tipped back, back, back until her whole throat and chest were displayed just for him and Hermione had to catch her weight on her hands behind her. Her back arched beautifully for him, and Draco ducked down to lavish her flushed chest and breasts with his mouth.

The intonations of their lovemaking filled the kitchen, the lewd slapping of his hips against her arse, the sound of her soaking cunt welcoming his cock over and over and over and over. Hermione's feminine moans and his own heavy breathing saturated his ears. Her skin tasted sweet with a bite of salt, and Draco relished the tang.

After licking a stripe from tit to earlobe, Draco straightened back up to drink his fill of his wife spread before him. He was so damn lucky to have her, and he was overwhelmed with love as he watched his dick disappear into her supple, willing body.

Suddenly he felt his balls tighten, pulling up towards his body, and he knew he wouldn't last much longer. His free hand flew to the magic button located just above where he drove into her. His thumb rubbed in fast, little circles around her swollen, dark clit, and he angled himself up, hoping to catch that sweet spot inside her that always made her clamp down so hard he saw stars.

"Come on, love, that's it. I'm close, and I need you to come for me now so I can fill you up with my seed." 

He watched her jaw drop open and eyes squeeze shut, eyebrows pulling together and up, an instant before she locked down around his cock. Stars whited out his vision as he forced himself to fuck her through her pulsing orgasm. He vaguely hoped it was an intense yet short one as he felt himself begin to empty inside her. His legs shook, and he exhaled a strangled noise as pleasure wafted through him, beginning at his groin and tracking through his veins to the tips of his toes and fingers and hair.

Releasing Hermione's hair, Draco caught his - suddenly unsteady - weight on the counter beneath her. He breathed in deeply through his nose, the scent of their coupling not helping to centre his mind.

Hermione practically vibrated beneath him, and Draco opened his eyes to check on her.

"You okay, love?"

A hum was the only response he got, along with a dreamy smile. Satisfied, he readjusted his weight so he could gently pull out of her. A flood of their juices followed his softening dick, pooling beneath them as he adjusted her back, more comfortably on the counter.

He cast a wandless charm to clean himself off before he tucked himself back into his pants and did up his trousers. He _could_ clean Hermione up as well, but he found he quite liked the sight of her dripping onto their counters, still half dressed and properly ravaged.

He helped her to her unsteady feet, keeping an arm around her waist as she fumbled like the newborn Granian foals his father had bred while he was still welcome at home. A well of pride bubbled within Draco, chasing out the pang of longing he couldn't seem to shake. Only he could leave Hermione out of commission like this.

Hermione's dress fell past her hips to puddle on the ground, so Draco helped her step out of it before leading her to their room. He left her strewn clothes in the kitchen - he could move them to the hamper in the morning, before heading out to deliver his applications.

Back in their bedroom, Draco changed into some slightly ill-fitting loungewear: the shoulders were half an inch too narrow, the leg too short, and he had to cinch the drawstring to keep the joggers from sliding off his hips, revealing a sliver of skin to the chill air at his abdomen. Draco missed tailoring.

Hermione shed the last of her clothes - her garter belt and stockings - and pulled on her own pyjamas, hers decidedly oversized where Draco's were small. Sitting on the edge of their bed, she deftly plaited her hair back, a routine Draco mourned as, contrary to his wife's beliefs, he did not mind drowning in her sweet-smelling hair in his sleep. 

Pulling out respective books, he and Hermione snuggled into their modest bed and read in companionable silence, Hermione cuddled against Draco's side with his arm slung around her.

-}>}>}>

Gringotts was the last stop on his list.

The imposing, white building seemed to sprout out of the snowy ground. The steps up to the bronze doors had been cleared so witches and wizards did not slip, and the relocated slush effectively buried the entrances to the neighboring shops.

The goblins had always unnerved Draco - but a job was a job, and Hermione had been right, this was the place most likely to actually hire him - so he gathered his courage and traipsed up the steps and through both sets of double doors. Striding past the rows of tellers, Draco approached the short queue at the customer services desk, waiting in line like the plebian he now was.

"I'm here to apply for the security advert in the paper," Draco told the dark-haired, pointy-nosed goblin when it was his turn. 

The goblin gave him a deliberate once over before saying in a rasping voice, "Follow me."

He followed the goblin back past the tellers to a side door near the entrance. He followed the goblin down a long hallway with doors on either side: the ones on the left were numbered teller rooms, the ones on the right labeled with positions and what he assumed were goblins' names. He followed the goblin down a flight of stairs as the white, marble design transitioned to dark stone. He followed the goblin as writhing snakes awoke in his gut, hissing thoughts like _trap, distrust, prison_.

Still, he followed the goblin. 

After descending what felt like a thousand steps, they reached a door with a plaque that read _Departments of Security and Curse-Breaking_. They entered.

An office on their left and one on their right greeted them, their doors open. The hall led further, presumably to the larger divisions for security and the curse-breaking department.

The goblin entered the office on the left with no preamble, and Draco jerked to catch up.

"Fresh blood for security, Gambol."

Draco appeared in the doorway just in time to see an old goblin turn in his chair to offer a sharp-toothed smile that held so little warmth, he shivered where he stood.

"Excellent." The goblin called Gambol sneered as they made eye contact. Dismissed, the other goblin pressed past Draco and retreated back to his post.

"So, Draco Malfoy wishes to work for Gringotts Bank - under goblins," he continued when they were alone.

Draco barely choked out a "yes" despite the statement not having been a question.

"Goblins guard the entrances and the largest vaults. But we have uses for wizards as well." The smirk that crossed the goblin's face did not bode well for Draco. Still, he stood firm. He wanted to make Hermione proud, to take some of the financial stress away from her, to provide for her the way a man, a husband should.

-}>}>}>

Draco and Hermione had celebrated his new employment with cheap wine and an early night in the bedroom, which turned into a late night in the bedroom. And despite his misgivings, Draco had survived two weeks of inspecting various witches and wizards' wands against their vault keys and checking them for enchantments.

He'd dealt with more derision in those two weeks than ever before. Wizards didn't trust him, pointing a wand at them while theirs had been confiscated. Gambol found every little thing to nitpick him about. His coworkers avoided him like he had Spattergroit.

On pay day, Draco reported to work with a buoyed feeling. He could withdraw a few galleons - four to be exact - and purchase a Christmas gift for Hermione after his shift. Christmas day was creeping in, but an unfamiliar optimism had him smiling at customers and brushing off their rude remarks.

A tall man with Weasley-red hair and an earring joined Draco in the staff room in the bowels of the bank at lunch time. After a more pleasant conversation than Draco had with anyone other than Hermione since they'd eloped six months prior, he found out that Bill Weasley, his wife, and their daughter were in Britain for Christmas, and he was working in the Diagon Alley branch of Gringotts for a week until their visit was up. 

He had, apparently, been made project manager of a high-caliber curse-breaking assignment and was in need of a potioneer with a specialty in antidotes. They conversed for some time on the merits of different published potions masters and techniques to salvage a misbrew.

At the end of the half hour, Draco's spirits couldn't have been higher.

The day seemed to fly by after that, and soon Draco was taking a nauseating trip down to the vault he shared with Hermione.

When the cart screeched to a stop outside a nondescript vault, the goblin took his key and opened the door. 

In the centre of the room the size of a closet, a pile of galleons, sickles, and knuts lay, twice as small as he'd been expecting. Counting the organized stacks thrice, Draco found the amount he expected from Hermione's paycheck and not a knut more.

He spun on the teller who had brought him to his vault.

"What is the meaning of this? Where are my earnings from the past fortnight?"

"The deposit for Miss Granger's employment was the only deposit made today, Mr Malfoy," the goblin replied blandly. "Would you like to make a withdrawal?"

Draco flinched. "Mrs Malfoy," he corrected on reflex and then considered his options. They were in need of a few groceries, and he could stop by the market on the way home. But a Christmas present was no longer in the cards. He needed to sort this with Gambol.

Being careful to leave enough gold so they would be able to afford their mortgage at the quickly approaching beginning of the month, Draco scooped up a small handful of coins and exited the vault.

Gringotts was a maze, so although Draco was fairly certain the security offices were located near the underground vaults, he returned to the lobby with the teller and walked through the hallway and down the staircase to his boss's office. The old goblin was still at his desk when Draco walked through the open door.

"Where are my wages, Gambol?"

"Wages?" The goblin turned with a wicked gleam in his beady eyes and a hungry smile showcasing pointy teeth. "You do not receive wages, Mr Malfoy; you repay your family's debts to the goblins by working for us." 

"You cannot do that! I am owed payment for my work. I have bills to pay, a wife to support!"

"You work for the goblins, boy," Gambol snapped, no longer smiling. "Wizards may be obligated to pay you in gold, but not goblins."

"The advert said two galleons and thirteen knuts an hour!"

"If you wanted to be paid in galleons, you should have signed a contract, Mr Malfoy."

Reining in his rising frustration, Draco counted to ten and took a deep breath. His next words managed to not come out between clenched teeth. "I cannot continue to work here without earning money. Can we come to an agreement over a contract?"

Gambol stared, unblinking, back at Draco for several long, tense moments.

"No. Your work is subpar, and the customers are uneasy around you. Leave your uniform on your way out." With that, the goblin spun back around, ending the conversation.

The horror of losing his job just edged out fury, and that was the only reason he walked out of Gringotts without being arrested for _Bombarding_ the bank into rubble. Instead, he walked in a daze out of the office, past a man with ginger hair whose voice was caught up in the cotton stoppering his ears, to the locker room to change with halting movements, and out the front door.

The prior two weeks had been an utter waste. He could have been applying to jobs that would actually pay him. He'd turned down Potter's request for a consultation on a case four days ago. Draco received monetary compensation for his time and "expertise," but he hated going into the Auror office for those. This time, he'd had a valid excuse other than "the mistrustful looks I receive from Aurors who would rather see me in Azkaban than playing nice in their conference room make me uncomfortable, and the more of these I do, the further from helpful I become, anyway, unless they deal directly with Dark curses - the kind that I hate admitting how I know how to dismantle." He was pretty sure Potter only extended the offers as a way to help Hermione stay fed, but Draco didn't want to work for pity, either.

As Draco walked the aisles of the grocer, he thought about how he was going to break the news to Hermione. He could envision the way her lips would droop, her hair and shoulders sagging under the bad news. She'd been so excited, and this was going to break her heart. He couldn't even briefly consider keeping it from her to spare her, though, as they'd promised in their binding wedding vows to never hide important news from each other.

So he dallied over the expiration dates on cartons of milk and checked every egg for minute cracks and compared prices on exotic fruit they couldn't afford anyway before he realised he'd be racing Hermione home if he didn't check out soon. His procrastination was at an end.

Hermione wasn't back yet by the time he had walked in the door and stomped snow off his shoes. Exhaustion had crept over him as he'd walked up the lane from the Apparation point, but he dutifully put the groceries away. Checking the loose pocket watch he’d fished out of his trousers, Draco figured Hermione must be working another long day - she'd had several late nights as Christmas crept up.

If only she were paid hourly rather than salary.

Despite wanting nothing more than to lay down and not move for a year, he pulled out a pan, two chicken breasts, and some seasonings and pointed his wand at the stove to get the coils hot. The comforting, familiar actions of cooking dinner caused time to fly by without his noticing, but once he'd plated up equal portions, Draco noticed that the rest of the house was dark and unoccupied - Hermione had never come home.

Frowning, Draco set the table and placed their meals under a stasis charm, turning to clean up the cooking dishes until Hermione was back. It seemed Draco checked the clock every two minutes as the time ticked closer to eight. Surely she wasn't working a twelve hour day? Had something happened?

Just as Draco was standing to Floo to the ministry to check on his wife, the front door blew open with a gust of wind and a shriek of apology from Hermione.

Before he could sigh in relief and call out to ask what had kept her, Draco noticed the portly man trailing behind his wife. Hermione was quicker than he was, though, and rushed into his arm and planted a kiss on his lips.

"Draco! I think something is wrong with our Floo! It wouldn't let me out at our fireplace. You haven't disconnected it, have you?"

Disbelief coloured his tone as he replied in shock, "No, of course not."

She turned to the man tracking melting snow into their entryway. "See? I told you." Draco could hear the purse in her lips without seeing her face.

"Yes, yes, Miss Granger, simply procedure to ask." He waved her off.

"Mrs Malfoy," he and Hermione corrected at the same time, and Draco highly doubted that the man was being truthful about whatever question he’d asked being "simply procedure."

"This man is from Magical Transportation. He's a Floo Technician," Hermione explained before Draco could enquire. "That's our Floo right there." She pointed. "We'll be just in the kitchen here, if you need us." Then, turning back to Draco, she said, "Is there dinner? I'm famished."

Draco nodded dumbly, staring at the man who stared back for a beat before turning to help Hermione into her seat.

"I bought groceries today, six galleons and nine sickles. How much is this going to cost?" Draco asked, keeping his voice low so it wouldn't travel to the technician.

"I don't know. He said that it depends on the work. But with your paycheck, we should be fine, for once!" The sparkle in her eye made Draco's stomach drop to his feet for the first time in his life. 

"About that… I just found this out today, but the goblins decided I was working to pay off War debts on my family's behalf. And as I didn't sign a contract, like a fool, I cannot contest their decision and get paid for my work. And then my manager fired me on the spot. I can see if Potter still needs assistance with his latest case, though." Once he got started, the words tumbled out of his mouth. His eyes stayed glued to his plate as he picked at his chicken, not strong enough to watch the relief on Hermione's face fall into despair.

With everything out in the open, they fell into silence, only the sound of their breathing and the tinkering of the wizard in the background between them.

"We'll… we'll make it work," Hermione finally said, weakly. "We always do."

Draco swallowed a lump when he finally met Hermione's eyes and saw a very different, wet twinkle in them. At a loss, he wished he knew what to do to fix this, fix everything so she would never cry again. 

She abruptly looked down to her plate. Forcing some cheer into her voice, she said, "Well, I'm all full now. Thank you for cooking, Draco, this was delicious. I think I'll take it for lunch tomorrow."

They each had barely picked at their dinners, but Draco agreed with her, standing to pack the leftovers into appropriate dishes and clean their plates and silverware.

"I don't suppose you would…" She looked off towards their entryway where the technician was kneeling at their fireplace. "No, no, nevermind, I can stay up until he's finished."

Draco's heart ached. Hermione looked exhausted and as if one thought of bad news could bowl her over. So, even though he detested the thought of dealing with this wizard who clearly didn't respect them, he offered, "Go to the bedroom; change your clothes. You have to be tired, and I can see him out once the Floo is fixed."

He could see the relief seep into her pores, but still, she asked, "Are you sure? It's no trouble."

"Yes, I'll be there shortly."

Draco was not there shortly. It was well past midnight when the wizard from Magical Transportation tossed a bit of Floo powder into the fireplace and declared it fixed. He said the ministry would owl them the bill. Draco's palms began sweating at the words _payment plan_.

When Draco finally crawled into bed, he was too tired to fuck his wife, which had been his original plan to cheer her up. Instead, he folded himself around her small frame, buried his nose in her usual plait, and inhaled her comforting scent.

-}>}>}>

Christmas day dawned crisp and cold.

Draco and Hermione had one of those Muggle faux Christmas trees in their living room, but the skirt underneath it was barren of presents as they trudged down the stairs mid-morning. Neither of them had been able to scrape up enough money to afford presents, so Draco had gifted Hermione seven orgasms of the course of the night and morning. She'd allowed him to carefully untie her plait and comb his fingers through her strands before fisting them and pulling hard.

Now her curls were piled haphazardly atop her head, wisps falling around her face. The bruises he'd left in the shape of his teeth were clearly on display.

They paused before their sad, little tree for a moment and then continued into the kitchen. In no time, they were cooking and laughing together, dancing to no music, and trying not to burn the sausages they had splurged on.

After breakfast, they left the dishes in the sink for later and collapsed on their sofa in front of the fireplace in their living room. After half an hour of soft kisses and sweet nothings and Draco's fingers tracing whorls and swirls on her shoulders, Hermione sighed.

"Could you check the time, Draco?"

He chuckled gruffly. "There's a clock right there, love, but okay." Readjusting Hermione on his side, Draco pulled out the pocket watch he always kept on his person. Flipping it open, it read a quarter after eleven, just like the clock hanging above their mantel. 

"I said I would pop into the office for a bit today to check on memos since we didn't have any major plans," said Hermione, moving to sit up and rise from the sofa despite Draco's grip tightening around her.

Groaning melodramatically, Draco whinged, "Oh, fine, if you must!"

Hermione giggled and placed a chaste kiss on his lips, which he wasted no time in chasing with a nip and his tongue. Five minutes later, Hermione was wiggling out of his grip and flouncing to the shower, leaving Draco bereft and sulking.

Bundled up with her hair beneath a beanie and a scarf around her mottled neck, Hermione pecked Draco goodbye at the Floo. "I'll be back in a few hours; you keep track on your pocket watch!"

Looking down at the dull gold timepiece in his hand, Draco had an idea. As soon as the green flames died back to orange and yellow, he was buttoning up his winter robes, stuffing his feet into his shoes, and dashing down the lane to the Apparation point.

Reappearing in a nearly deserted Diagon Alley, Draco raced to a particular antiques and resale shop.

Making a beeline for the jewelry box containing the hair combs, Draco rifled through them, landing on an ivory comb with queen anne rose carvings and gold filigree detailing.

He brought it to the startled shopkeeper and set it down gently. Pulling his sixth generation Malfoy heirloom pocket watch from his coat, he shoved it in the wizard's face without second guessing himself.

"I would like to make an exchange."

The shopkeeper's eyes narrowed, but he took the pocket watch carefully. Popping the cover open, he inspected the time, listened to the second hand ticking, and compared the passing minute to his own wrist watch. "You said this is worth _considerably more_ than five galleons last time."

"Sell it for however much you like," Draco groused, interrupting whatever the shop owner had been about to say. "The comb is four galleons, and that's all I'm asking for in return. And a Christmas wrapping."

The old wizard considered Draco for a moment before he seemed to come to some decision. He nodded once and placed the pocket watch behind the counter, pulled out a small, brown paper bag and white tissue paper, and glibly wrapped the comb up.

"Happy Christmas," Draco said as he left, forcing himself to remain congenial until he left the shop.

"I'm pagan. I don't celebrate Christmas."

Inhaling sharply through his nose, Draco counted to five. Then, stiffly, "Happy meaningless winter day." The door swung shut behind him.

The walk to the Apparation point served to calm Draco down. The chilly air bit at his cheeks and forced him to breathe slowly, nullifying the fire burning his veins.

When Draco got home, he placed the solitary present under the tree and pulled the bedclothes to launder them until Hermione returned from work. The pale blue sheets were stained dark in several spots from both his and Hermione's come. The blotches brought phantom memories to the forefront of his mind, and if they didn't have sleep on the filthy sheets, he would regret washing the stains out.

Hermione did not keep him waiting long, and as he moved the bedclothes from the magical washing machine to the dryer, he heard the _whoosh_ from the Floo, announcing her presence.

He met her in the entry as she shed her coat, scarf, and shoes, but curiously left her hat in place. Before he could comment on it, she bustled into the living room, pulling a parcel from her little bag.

"I know we said no presents because money has been tight, but I was able to earn a little extra today and stopped by the shops on my way home. I hope that's okay. You've just gone through so much this year and have been such a trooper, and you deserve something good for Christmas." She was rambling as she stood in front of their tree, playing with the box and making it jangle with whatever was encased inside.

"Hermione," Draco said, placing a hand on her shoulder in an attempt to comfort her. Her neck was oddly exposed, and he traced a hickey with his finger. "It's alright, love. I did the same while you were out." He Summoned the bag behind her left foot, and it zipped into his hand.

Hermione's cheeks darkened, and before she could protest, he led her to the sofa.

"Let's open at the same time," Hermione decided, swiftly swapping their gifts.

Breathing out a chuckle, Draco acquiesced, leaving a kiss on the brim of her knit cap.

Draco tore the wrapping while the sound of tissue paper rustling together met his ears. A soft gasp followed as he lifted the lid to his box. But his heart had stopped in his chest, and he couldn't tear his eyes away to see her reaction to her own present.

Loose and coiled in the bottom of the velvet-lined box, a fine, gold chain looped around itself. A clasp made up one end, and the links wound around and around to a black pendant sitting in the center of the box. Twinkling spots formed a constellation in the smooth onyx stone. Off-centre, a delicate T-bar sprouted off the main chain, ready to nestle in a button-hole.

A pocket watch chain. The exact shade of antiqued gold of his Malfoy heirloom pocket watch. The last tie Hermione knew he had of his heritage. The last tie he had sold to buy Hermione's own Christmas present.

Shocking himself out of his stupor, he turned to see her reaction to her new comb. She sat facing him on the sofa, her eyes and mouth round as saucers and her beanie pulled off and crumpled in one fist.

All her hair was gone.

Shorn off at the root with only a minuscule amount of extra length at the crown, hinting at a curl.

Draco gasped, his hand raising of its own volition to touch, to _feel_ , to know if this was real or his eyes were playing a trick on him. He forced his hand to stop halfway between them, his fingers shaking as he reminded himself _not_ to touch.

Tears welled in Hermione's eyes, and self-loathing rose in tandem within Draco. He had caused this pain in her. Over what? A four galleon hair comb? And now he had to tell her that her gift was useless, he'd sold the pocket watch and there was no way they would ever be able to afford the inflated price to purchase it back. He opened his mouth to croak out an explanation, a response, _anything_.

Hermione beat him to her voice, calm and steady despite the tear that had broken free and tracked down her cheek. "I sold my hair to a wig maker to buy your pocket watch chain."

Coming to his senses abruptly, Draco quickly gathered her in his arms, his nose tucking where he would usually be suffocated with curls.

"I sold my pocket watch to afford your hair comb," he whispered thickly into her ear.

After an unmeasured length of time embracing, Hermione giggled with a sniff.

"We're quite a pair aren't we?"

A smile quirked at the corner of Draco's lips. "Yeah, we are."

"I love you. We'll figure it out."

"I love you too. And we always do; we've got you on our side."

A light shove at his chest prompted a snicker. "We're a _team_ ," Hermione insisted.

"Yes, we are," Draco murmured, pulling back far enough to rest his forehead against hers, their noses pressed together and their breaths mingling. He tilted and pressed a kiss to her lips.

-}>}>}>

Draco and Hermione decided to take Boxing Day off. They lazed around in their freshly cleaned and freshly sullied sheets, not worrying about memos or job openings in a world that didn't care about either one of them.

The _whoosh_ of a Floo call caught their attention as they ate sandwiches over the sink in a late lunch.

Hermione's eyes went wide, her hands moving to cover her naked body despite the Floo not having a line of sight to the kitchen. Draco, in moderately more clothing with a pair of low slung joggers covering the important bits, waved Hermione to their bedroom to get decent and headed to answer the call as Potter's voice rang through the entryway.

"Sorry to bother you over the holidays," Potter announced without preamble as Draco wandered into view. "I tried Hermione in her office, but I guess she's taking the day. Something I think will interest you came across my desk today, and if you'll allow it, I'd like to step through and discuss it with you."

Draco sighed, wishing he could lay into Potter for disturbing them at home and knowing he needed to be polite instead. "Not today, Potter, I'd be happy to go over a case with you starting tomorrow, but Hermione and I aren't looking to be in the public view today. Neither of us want to head into the ministry."

"I really think—"

"Harry!" Potter was cut off by the exuberant voice of Hermione. She paced into the hall fully clothed.

Potter's eyes squinted in the fire. "Hermione, you look…" He rubbed a flake of ash off of his round glasses. "Oh, can I just come through; we need to talk."

"Of course, of course!" Hermione ushered him through before Draco could dissent.

"Couldn't put on more clothes, Malfoy?" were the first words out of his mouth as soon as he stepped out of the hearth, his eyes locked on Draco's bare abdomen.

"It's Boxing Day, and I'm at home. I'll wear whatever I damn well please." Draco sneered.

"Boys!" Hermione admonished before Potter could retort and escalate the situation. She placed a hand on each of their shoulders. "Draco, why don't you go put on a shirt while I talk to Harry? Happy Christmas, Harry!"

Draco grumbled unintelligible noises under his breath while he retreated, hearing Potter exclaim at Hermione's new hairdo.

Her hair had grown an inch overnight, the curls casting a halo around her face. At least his gift to her would start to be useful soon. The gorgeous pocket watch chain sat on top of their chest of drawers in the bedroom. Draco touched it longingly before pulling out a shirt and rejoining Hermione and Potter in the kitchen.

"This isn't a consultation request - I promise. A man came in today, claiming you'd sold him this"—he revealed Draco's pocket watch—"and asking for a curse-breaker to look it over. Now, typically that's not our jurisdiction, but he said your name, and I thought I recognised the watch. So I took it and told him this was on a list of Lucius's things that were supposed to have been confiscated at the end of the War, sorry." Potter's green eyes had gone wide behind his wire frames. "But it didn't seem right for him to have it. I wanted to give it back to you." Potter seemed to flounder at the end of his monologue, and for once Draco didn’t have a snarky comment to toss back in his face.

He took the pocket watch reverently, rubbing his thumb over the familiar grooves of the case face.

Hermione cleared her throat and nudged Draco under the table. “What do you say, love?”

Heat swirling up his neck, Draco lifted his eyes to meet Potter’s green irises. “Thank you. You don’t know what this means to me.”

Potter clearly became uncomfortable, here, reaching a hand up to fidget with the tight collar around his neck. They were both spared from any other niceties by a loud rapping on the window behind the table.

Quick as any Quidditch player, Hermione scrambled to let an owl in from the snowy outdoors.

“That’s Errol!” Potter exclaimed, clearly recognising the wind-buffeted, scrawny bird of prey. It promptly collapsed into Hermione’s arms, rolling over and sticking its leg out and otherwise playing dead.

Slightly flabbergasted, Draco reached over and extracted the rolled parchment from the strange bird’s talon.

_Dear Hermione and Draco Malfoy,_

_I hope this letter finds you well and that you both had a lovely Christmas. Fleur and Victoire send their love._

_Draco, this letter is chiefly meant for you. I have not been able to keep our conversation last week from my mind. I have interviewed several applicants but none have impressed me as you had over half an hour of informal discussion. I hope it does not offend you, but I heard the tail end of Gambol’s less-than-stellar … meeting with you. I know we did not talk much about specifics, but I would like to offer you a position on my team._

_I am primarily stationed in Egypt, however, as a potioneer, you would be granted more freedom on location. We would need to arrange monthly international Portkeys if you chose to live abroad, but that would be no trouble. You would be required to fill multiple scripts of potions and antidotes on a weekly basis, as well as consult with our team on multiple projects. If this seems like something that would interest you, I would be happy to meet in person with you before the New Year to go over specifics._

_As for pay, we start with a minimum wage of two galleons an hour, forty hours a week. Additional scripts filled on top of routine orders offer bonuses, amounts subject to change based on type of potion. If you would like, I’m willing to write up a contract for you._

_Send your reply with Errol; he should need to rest up before he’s ready to return, so take your time deciding with the Mrs._

_Again, Happy Christmas and wishes for a_ joyeux _New Year!_

_Bill and Fleur Weasley_

Beneath the tidy script was the large, uneven handwriting of a child, Victoire. Heavy blotches made for dotted _I_ s, and the _E_ was capitalised and backwards.

Rendered speechless and forgetting he had an audience with Potter, Draco passed the letter to Hermione.

It was obvious when she’d finished reading because she squealed so loud Draco was sure she’d burst his eardrum and she shot up from her seat, nearly dropping the ragged grey owl. Passing the bird to Potter like a baby at the last moment, she threw her arms around Draco, bursting into tears.

“Oh, it’s perfect, Draco! A Christmas miracle! You’re going to take it, yes? You’ll be brilliant!”

Hermione’s untethered joy was infectious, and after three seconds ticked by the hand in Draco’s pocket watch, he had enveloped his witch in his arms, guffawing loudly and agreeing to take the position.

“Erm, this is obviously a moment.” The uncomfortable tone in Potter’s voice abruptly ended the rising elation in Draco’s chest. 

Hermione pulled back, her rich skin darkening with a blush. “No, no, Harry. Sorry. Bill has just offered Draco a job!”

“Well, this is awkward.”

Draco snorted in the most undignified of manners.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Hermione asked, reeling on her sloppy-haired friend.

“Nothing, nothing!” Potter backpedaled, his hands raised in a motion for peace, or self preservation. “Just that _I_ was going to offer _you_ a job.”

At the twin, gaping looks Draco and Hermione shot at him, Potter positively _smirked_. “Robbards announced his retirement yesterday. I’m Head Auror effective on the first, and we need new blood on our research team. You’re wasting away in legislation, and they’re never going to offer you options for moving up the ladder, there.”

Hermione stared at him, gobsmacked.

Draco poked at her shoulder, the left side of his mouth curling up. “Oh, it’s perfect, Granger. A Christmas miracle. You’re going to take it, yes? You’ll be brilliant.” His words were teasing, but he couldn’t have been more sincere if he tried.

-}>}>}>

Once Hermione had formally accepted Potter’s offer and the intruding wizard had been seen through the Floo, Draco turned to his beloved wife. “I’ll have to spend some time out of the country.”

“We’ll make it work.”

“We always do.” Draco smiled, leaning down to kiss his wife, his love, his reason.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I hope you felt some things and liked what you read! I hope you are safe and healthy and having a happy holiday season! I would love to hear what you thought, so leave me a kudos or a comment if you so choose (even if it's not Christmas anymore, lol, I promise I won't think you're weird!).


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